


In the Trees

by geneeste



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, F/M, Prompt Fic, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-27
Updated: 2011-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-20 18:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geneeste/pseuds/geneeste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He expects her to tell him that God is an old myth built by a fearful population, that prayer doesn’t go anywhere except into the air. But she doesn’t. ***Spoilers for S6 finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Trees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xheartlikeminex](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=xheartlikeminex).



> Written for xheartlikeminex, who asked for: Booth/Brennan - post _The Change in the Game_ , Booth's being a bit overprotective of Brennan at a crime scene.

They arrive at the park just as the sun begins to rise, and although it’s early no one comments on the fact they came together. It’s not uncommon for Booth to pick Bones up to go to a crime scene, even in the middle of the night.

It’s completely normal, he tells himself.

There are still shadows in the twilight, so he walks carefully over the ground and tree roots. Bones is beside him, and he resists the urge to take her arm. They follow the lights in the distance until they find the local law enforcement guys hovering around a clearing.

There’s a park policeman by the name of Schultz waiting for them. He looks grim, but then that’s normal too.

“Agent Booth, Doctor Brennan.” Schultz nods. “Some campers found the body around 3:30 this morning. We closed the area off and called it in; aside from the campers movements, you should find the scene uncontaminated. It’s...well, we’re glad you’re here.” The man is brusque but professional, and Booth appreciates it, although he has a feeling there’s something the man’s not saying.

Bones moves past him to meet Cam, who is already taking pictures of the body. Booth is no scientist, but already he can see the source of the park police’s uneasiness. The body, clothed but decomposing quickly in the exposed air, is much too small to be an adult.

He meets Bones’ eyes over the victim. They’re blank, but he knows better. Silently he asks her, _are you okay?_ But she doesn’t give him any sign, just kneels down beside Cam and begins her work.

Sighing, he makes his way around the site, looking for anything that jumps out at him as being out of place. Bones is narrating in the background confirming Cam’s assessment that the victim is female and between the ages of 11 and 14. As she talks, Booth sees movement out the corner of his eye, right before he realizes that there’s a man rushing the scene.

The look of wild agony and rage is plain on his face; Booth has seen it before, and alarm shoots through him as realizes the man’s destination. The other officers see it too, and they are on him just as he charges a stunned Bones, now standing to see what the commotion is about.

The man is throwing punches, fighting. A fist sails by Bones’ face by an inch before he can reach her, and she reacts, stumbling quickly backwards but keeping her footing. “No, no, no, _Emily, that’s my Emily._ That’s my daughter. No, let me go.”

Booth has planted himself in front of Bones and gets a knee in his stomach for it. He is certain the man doesn’t know what he’s doing, isn’t even aware of where he is, but Booth has to calm him down before he does something irreversible. He is sympathetic and angry and lets the anger lead, knowing that will cut through the anguish faster.

“Hey, hey, stop, you’ve got stop.” Booth takes man’s feet out from under him, and he and the other officers finally get the man facedown on the ground. “Easy, easy. Just take a breath.”

The man is spent, just lays on ground sobbing. The other officers move away, watch there helplessly. Booth stays with a knee on the grass, rubbs the man’s back and says he’s sorry. He’s vaguely surprised – and relieved – that Bones didn’t move to intervene, and looks behind to reassure himself that she’s all right. She’s still standing there, frozen and staring. Booth’s heart aches at the sight.

Behind her, the sunrise throws orange light against the trees. It’s a beautiful morning.

\-----

About a week later, Booth stands in front of a large, old tree behind the Department of Health and Human Services and shakes his head. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Cam comes up beside him and chuckles. “Nope. From the reports, it looks like we have a jumper from the roof who aimed badly. Landed in the tree and got caught in the branches. Given where we are, it’s not a little ironic.”

Frowning, ignoring her dark humor, he just continues to look up at the tree. “And no one noticed?” He would have thought the smell alone would have clued in the DHHS employees that something wasn’t right.

She shrugs. “If they did, they didn’t report it. The groundskeeper found the remains during routine maintenance of the tree.”

He blinked. “And someone’s going to have to climb up there and get him out?”

“With some help from modern technology, yes. That’s the idea.”

He hears snapping noises from the van, and turns to find Brennan securing the last buckles of a harness around her legs.

She’s been very reserved since their last case, the young girl they'd found in the national park. It’s still open, and as it appeared to be a random sexual assault attempt gone badly, and a crime without witnesses or much DNA evidence, Booth isn’t holding out much hope for closing it. He’s knows it’s eating at her; it’s eating at him.

Maybe that’s why he’s a little more abrupt with her than is called for. “No way.”

She looks sharply at him, bristling at the words he’s not saying. “Booth, getting the victim out of the tree while preserving the scene and evidence will be difficult. It will require a high degree of care and proficiency, and I am the most qualified person here to do it.”

He puts his hands on his hips. Bones has said that it’s his way of increasing his bodily presence, a calculated effort to intimidate. He’s not sure if that’s why he’s doing it now. “Bull, you’re pulling an idiot out of a tree. Let someone else do it.”

“It’s perfectly safe. Look, your FBI technicians have put together scaffolding and I will be tethered at all times.” When he doesn’t answer, she steps forward, stubborn now and probably immovable. “Booth, it’s my job. This is what I do.”

Before he can open his mouth to reply, Cam breaks in. “Am I missing something here?” She looks between the two of them with suspicion.

For a minute, they just stare each other down. Booth needs her to understand him, needs her to get that things are different now. There’s more to consider than just her professional duty. He also knows that thought is a little hypocritical coming from him.

Still, he doesn’t want to back down. But he knows he can’t force her to do anything - never could - so when she lets out a curt “No,” he doesn’t counter her.

Cam nods and gives him her trademark I-am-the-boss smile. “Good. Dr. Brennan is correct, this is her job and I believe she should go do it. Unless, Booth, you have a reason why she shouldn’t?”

Bones is watching him closely, and he knows saying the wrong thing here could cause some major trouble between them. Instead, he tries to remind himself that he has to trust her judgment, even if it terrifies him. He sighs. “No.”

It’s too late, of course. Cam is too smart not to know now that something’s going on, although she’s too prudent to ask now. He’s probably going to regret making a scene later; feeling Bones’ anger and embarrassment as she brushes by him, he already does.

He sets his jaw and waits restlessly at the base of the tree while she works.

\-----

They’re stuck in traffic on 3rd street on the way back to the Jeffersonian when her silence finally gets to him. He glances over at her – she’s facing away from him towards the window. From this angle, he can just see the soft rise of her stomach above her seatbelt.

He swallows tensely. “Look, I’m sorry about before. I shouldn’t have questioned your abilities or your professionalism, especially not in front of Cam. I know you can take care of yourself. It won’t happen again.”

She’s still quiet, and doesn’t give any indication that she heard him.

He’s unsure of what to say now. “I know I’ve been a little...overly-attentive lately. I’m not trying to be.”

A moment passes, and his stomach sinks as he thinks that maybe this is going to be harder for him to fix than he thought.

And then, quietly, “I don’t mind.”

Finally, she turns away from the window on a sigh. “I understand why you did it. I don’t like it, but I think I understand why.”

He’s surprised at that, but he knows he shouldn’t be. He supposes she knows him pretty well. “I appreciate that,” he says tentatively.

Bones shifts in the seat, trying to get comfortable as Booth inches the car forward another few feet in traffic. “I just didn’t expect for all of this to happen so quickly. I thought I’d have more time.”

“Well, hey,” he says gently, kindly, “you knew there was going to be stuff you wouldn’t be able to do eventually. At least for while.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees her nod slightly. “I know.”

He swallows again, dreading a question he can’t help but ask. “Do you regret this?”

Her answer is immediate and strong. “No,” she reaches across the middle console to touch his arm. “No, Booth. I just...need time to adjust.”

Relief floods through him, and he throws a smile at her. “Good. That’s good.”

She’s quiet again, just looking out the window, for a long time. He’s about to ask her what she’s thinking about when she speaks again. “Do you pray for us?”

The question shocks him, and his hands tighten unconsciously on the steering wheel. The image of Emily in the park, of her father’s anguish rises unbidden in his head, and the old familiar fear of not being there, of not being enough, gathers in his chest. He quells it with force of will, helped by the weight of Bones’ hand on his arm.

“Every day. All the time,” he replies, voice gravelly.

He expects her to tell him that God is an old myth built by a fearful population, that prayer doesn’t go anywhere except into the air. But she doesn’t.

“Okay,” she replies softly.

The traffic breaks as they get closer to the lab. Booth drives on.


End file.
